Silver Lining
by Elenothar
Summary: Post IM 1; After Stane's staged funeral, Tony has to deal with a lot of unwanted emotions. But every cloud has a silver lining, this one in the form of his assistant Pepper Potts. Tony/Pepper


Summary: Post IM 1; After Stane's staged funeral, Tony has to deal with a lot of unwanted emotions. But every cloud has a silver lining, this one in the form of his assistant Pepper Potts. Tony/Pepper

Notes: Probably a little bit on the OOC side for Tony because I'm letting him angst – like a lot. Sort of AUish.

Silver Lining

An ordinary day in an ordinary life.

At any rate there had to be _someone_ out there for whom it was, he thought wryly. Of course Tony Stark's life had never exactly been ordinary, but there had been ordinary days in their abnormality. Sitting at the staged funeral of a man who only a few days ago had tried to kill him – worse, had tried to kill Pepper - and had illegally sold _his_ weapons to terrorists, however, could not be considered normal by anyone – he for sure did not. Especially in light of the fact that he was supposed to look sorrowful, which, for rather obvious reasons, he was failing miserably at. It was all he _could_ do to keep his anger at even being there at bay.

A sharp elbow caught him in the ribs. He winced – the old bruise there would probably double in size – and turned to his bossy (and that was an understatement), red-haired PA. She jerked her head towards the podium, the glare leveled at him promising trouble if he did not listen to her (again). It should come as no surprise that he knew said glare _very_ well, having been at the receiving end of it more times than he could count; which also meant he knew she would not hesitate to go through with her threat. And since a week without coffee and leeway would right about kill him right now, he dutifully turned his attention back to the man droning on in the front. The irony of a man, who, as far as he knew, had never even met Stane, speaking his eulogy did not escape him, and he would have been grateful to whoever had arranged it if the man had not been so _dreadfully_ boring.

Tony kept his eyes fixed on the speaker, but his thoughts wandered, and later he would not have been able to recall a single detail of the speech. He thought of all the people he had lost during his life. He thought of his parents, and of Yinsen. He thought of Pepper, who was there, right next to him, yet so far away he could not reach her. He thought of his own cowardice in never truly having mourned their losses – one time he had been too drunk to stand, much less think, the other he had been too busy trying to save his own life – even now, attempting to escape the guilt. He thought of never having told Pepper how he felt out of fear that then she would have no choice but to leave him, truly this time, and he just could not bear the thought of finally getting what he deserved (to be completely alone). He thought of the armor, stashed away in his work-shop, and the lie it told. He was no super hero by heart, had never been chosen by some higher power to be extraordinary because of his purity of spirit; he was just a selfish, broken man with a ridiculously high IQ. He thought of people, men, women, children, _families_, he had watched die ever since Afghanistan, the innocent lives he could have saved if he had just _seen_ before. Killed by his own weapons, his own inventions. The stain on his soul that would never go away.

But whether it was because of the setting, or because their memories clamored to be heard, his thoughts always returned to the three people he owed the most. Two he should have died with, one he should have died for. Pictures of the car-wreck flashed through his mind's eye, and of the kind man bleeding to death on stacks of sand, left without dignity. Yes, he had survived, for no reason he could really discern, and even he, Tony Stark, did not have the technology to turn back time (yet).

"Tony?" a soft voice asked from his right.

He started, turning his glazed gaze to Pepper's worried face.

"The eulogy is over. The guests are leaving."

"Oh."

He looked around, dazed. It was true. People were rising and making their ways to the exit. He cleared his throat, slightly uncomfortable. "Okay. Let's go then."

Tony was acutely aware of her worried gaze burning into his back. He knew he was not behaving like his usual safe just like he knew there were one hundred and eighteen known elements. Closing his eyes, if only for a brief moment, he drew a deep breath. Tomorrow, he told himself, tomorrow, everything would be normal again, his insecurities and vulnerabilities would be hidden at the very back of his mind, and he would be his usual swaggering cocksure self. Tomorrow… His lips pulled into something bitter, alien. Here he was, still trying to convince himself that everything was right in the world.

He sighed. A day of hiding in the workshop to take his mind off things sounded like a good idea (after all, whom would he help by completely losing himself?). Yep, tinkering on a car was what he needed right now.

That much, for the plan.

_Apparently _the world (or at least a big part of it) was out to get him today. Not that it usually was not, but today seemed to be especially bad. _Someone_ had seen fit to replace the grand piano in the foyer. The last person to play here had been Stane – the man whose very ghost he had been trying to escape by returning home (he ignored the small voice in the back of his head which whispered that this cold, empty house had never been home when Pepper was not there).

He found himself staring at the glinting, black instrument, which he could not help but think should not _be_ there; step by step it drew him in, until his fingers nearly brushed the ivory keyboard.

It had been years since he had properly played, years since he had last set a room alight with music. After the death of his parents, at first, he had refused to play, too many memories had plagued him. Since then he had sometimes plonked away when the fancy hit him (a rare occurrence). The only person to use it regularly had been Stane.

Tony's face hardened.

Sliding onto the bench, he closed his eyes in his life-long habit of gathering concentration. Near forgotten notes softly sounded in his mind, and he began to play, at first rusty, but as time progressed with more of his old practiced ease. Unknowingly a small smile graced his face; he had had forgotten the beauty of producing music himself. Letting out a deep breath, and with it all his tension, he lost himself in the music and its emotions, playing in his mind and in reality both.

Pepper Potts was tired and worried. Usually that just meant that it was either the start, sometime in the middle, or the end of her workday, as not even the most genteel person would be able to honestly say that Tony Stark was an easy man to babysit (not that she thought of herself as a babysitter per say, more of an all-around caretaker, but she was not deaf to what people were saying behind her back), yet today was different. She had never in all her ten years of working for him, seen her boss this distraught and unsettled so openly. Not even after The Incident, as she had termed the horrifying events surrounding his kidnapping in Afghanistan.

So, because she was Pepper Potts and genuinely worried about the man who paid her to do her job (and not a small amount either), instead of going home for the evening she drove to the Stark mansion to check on Tony. A small voice in the back of her head (which annoyingly sounded distinctly like Jarvis) whispered, _'Stop kidding yourself, Potts, you know that this has nothing to do with him being your boss and everything to do with you ogling his ass every time he turns.'_ She steadfastly ignored it. There was no way she was going to go _there_.

The first clue to something being out of the ordinary – if not downright wrong – were the lights dimly lighting the entrance hallway. She frowned. Usually Tony went down to the work-shop to distract himself when he felt off, which meant the rest of the house was silent and dark. The second clue, quiet music, ceased to be one and drew breath as a stark fact as soon as she reached the end of the hallway. She stood at the edge of the foyer that was Tony's 'comfy area' as he termed it (though she had noticed he had not been using it lately), and her breath caught in her throat. Tony was sitting at the new Steinway, black suit open and tie loosened, his eyes closed his graceful fingers flew over the keys. Pepper watched the slight rocking of his upper body, the passion evident in every line of his body, completely entranced. Dimly she realized that he was playing the Moonlight Sonata (and played it well), but the man sitting there at the black piano, bathed in a soft golden glow from the dimmed lights, eclipsed everything else. It was not even his beauty (yes, she thought of Tony Stark as beautiful) that struck her most, but the simple, arresting fact that he was completely and utterly relaxed, in tune with himself. She had never seen him like this before, and there was a distinct feeling that she would never again. Tony Stark was not relaxed. At the most calm he was thrumming with energy. Yet, right now, in that moment, the self-centered, playboy Tony from before Afghanistan was gone, as was the quieter, more thoughtful, yet still undeniably Tony-esque version of himself that had returned from that hell. Here was the core of his being, usually hidden behind layers and layers of persona, revealed to the world…or at least revealed to her.

The logical part of her urged her to go, to be the professional, to stop intruding on this private moment. But her legs would not move (and to be completely truthful, most of her was not in any way, shape, or form inclined to go). So Pepper stayed, quietly at the edge of the room, as her boss lost himself in his own world.

An indeterminate amount of time later, the tune changed. Beethoven was replaced by something slower, sadder, a piece she did not recognize. Previously she had thought nothing could surprise her any more tonight, but that thought went out the window the second he opened his mouth and began to sing.

"Mein ist dein Herz…"

The smoky, perfect baritone pouring out of his mouth caught Pepper completely off guard. She had had no idea that he possessed such a voice. Then again she could not remember hearing him sing like ever.

"Dein Schmerz ist mein eigen…"

What was he singing anyway? She was fairly sure the lyrics were in German, yet the words rolling off his tongue were surprisingly smooth and practiced (to her knowledge the only German word Tony knew was 'Scheiße'). Pepper was still puzzling over that conundrum when sudden, oppressive silence made her look up - right into the deep eyes of Tony Stark.

"Enjoying the show, Miss Potts?" His tone was calm and collected, as if her catching him doing something like this was a normal everyday occurrence, but Pepper was not fooled. Though there was no denying that the CEO of Stark Industries was a _very_ accomplished liar if he so desired, close association had armed her with one exceedingly useful piece of knowledge: Tony's eyes never lied (ergo, sunglasses were often used as a defense mechanism - he was near impossible to read with those darn things on). And right now there was a turbulence of emotion in their dark depths that belied his calm veneer.

"Yes, actually. I was wondering why you haven't started a boy group yet," she retorted, though her voice missed some of its usual sting.

"A boygroup?" he repeated, a comically affronted pout adorning his face. "I prefer women more mature than that, you know. Besides I would have sucked as a lead singer – they're actually supposed to turn up at concerts _and _be on time."

Pepper only just refrained from her usual 'Tony stupid comment'-eyeroll. "A CEO is, too, Tony, and that's never stopped you so far."

He actually looked thoughtful for a moment. "Good point. Do you really think I should start one? I mean I certainly got the looks…"

"No!" she answered sharply, back to her usual state of exasperation when dealing with him. "Your ego is big enough as it is! You don't need teenage girls drooling over you any more than they already are."

Usually that jab would have him snarking right back, but, to her mounting worry, he did no such thing, but suddenly just looked deflated as if he had aged a decade since she had last looked.

"You're right." His gaze would not meet her eyes any more. "I should go work on the suit some more."

"No!" The outcry tore from her throat involuntarily. She knew in her very being that she could not let him leave now, not like this.

For the first time that evening he looked truly startled. "Pepper?"

She stepped closer to him. "I…I wanted to apologize. For making you come to the funeral."

"Don't apologize to me, Pepper," he said softly, though the lines around his mouth tightened nearly imperceptibly. "It was the right thing to do for the company."

She swallowed, trying not to let her disappointment show. "And for you?"

She did not ask how he was coping. She did not ask if he had found any kind of closure. She not even ask how he felt, yet Tony somehow heard all of it in that one little question she _did_ ask – and his face showed his gratitude for her not asking.

"Yes, I believe it was the right thing for me as well."

A smile broke out on her face. "I'm glad."

And in Tony's answering smile Pepper saw everything she needed. Ignoring her rational part screaming at her to turn back and run while she still could lest something happened she would regret later, she took another slightly trembly step forward, narrowing the distance between them to an arm length.

"You have shown impressive restraint in this matter, Mr. Stark, but," their faces were now mere inches apart, "I'm tired of waiting."

The rest of the distance melted away as she leaned forward and finally pressed her lips to his. For a split second he stood frozen, until his brain – and body – caught up with what was happening, and his arms came up to encircle her, deepening the kiss at the same time. Dimly she reflected that this had been worth the worry and the wait – even if she was now forever indebted to Obadiah Stane for having died and having had a funeral. Strange were the workings of fate…

* * *

><p>"Tony?"<p>

Her husband looked up from where he was lounging on the couch with his laptop. "Yes, love?"

She ignored the rush of desire and happiness that still coursed through her every time she heard him say that word. "What was that song you sang on the night we happened?"

For a moment he seemed to be far away. The he said, softly, "My father used to sing it to my mother every Christmas. One of the only traditions they ever had." He shrugged. "I do not remember its name, but I'm pretty sure they heard it when they first met in Germany."

"Your parents met in Germany?" Pepper repeated surprised.

Another shrug. "A business trip, they met in a concert hall in Frankfurt. This piece was being performed." A fond smile tugged at his lips. "I have heard it so often I could play it in my sleep."

"A Christmas tradition you say?"

Tony looked at her then, completely looked at her, only at her. "A tradition worthy of a loved one."

She smiled. It seemed she had a Christmas to look forward to.

* * *

><p>(AN personal: In case you ever read this - yes, this is dedicated to you)


End file.
